I hadn’t heard that Justin Theroux‘s penis was an issue until I read a quote from Liv Tyler, his co-star in that awful new HBO series.

“There was this scene where he was jogging, and there was quite a large bulge in his sweatpants and it was all over.”

Now I find that Justin’s penis is not just a huge distraction but a huge distraction. There are all kinds of pictures of his crotch, especially in sweatpants. Let’s have another look.

You know what, I don’t like this penis. What is it doing? Why is it down there, did it fall? Where’s the rest of it? And why can’t he wear underwear? I’m starting to hate him.

I have vague recollections of liking Marky Mark‘s penis.

This looks more appetizing. Renaldo and Beckham aren’t bad either.

I don’t think we girls like men for their silhouette in sweats or briefs. A man’s brain is so important when it comes to real attraction. A hot guy who says something stupid is a waste of hotness. Justin Theroux needs to stop giving interviews so I don’t have to feel worse about him than I already do.

He needs to put up or shut up, with regard to Jennifer Aniston. He needs to stop talking about his clothes. He needs to stop hanging out with Terry Richardson and he needs to give up that whole biker charade.

Most of all, he needs to either show us his penis so we can figure out if it’s anatomically sound, or put on some fucking underpants so Live Tyler can resume whatever it is she’s trying to do.

11 Responses to “Justin Theroux’s Penis”

Jennifer Aniston has terrible taste in men anyway so it is no surprise that Justin Theroux is thick as a plank. But his privates– isn’t he too young to have that happen? I believe the technical term for his condition, as named by Larry David, is “long-ass balls.”

Naturally I had never heard of John Hamm so I Googled him.
He has a whole department dedicated to him – John Hamm’s wang, it’s called.
I looked and I believe I can attest to the fact that he does, indeed, possess a “wang”.
And now we know.
Lucky us.

My mate in the army had a photo of him and me standing together in combat gear – you know, typical ‘squaddie BS’ photo – and he sent a copy to his girlfriend. She wrote back and said something to the effect of never mind you can you introduce me to your friend? We both looked again at the photo and realised that an accidental fold in my trousers gave the impression of a willie descending halfway to my knee! Alas, the truth was far infinitely tinier.

Still, as I used to comfort my disappointed girlfriends, it’s not the size that counts but the knowledgeable arse behind it!